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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349805">On The Rocks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argent_Aviis/pseuds/Argent_Aviis'>Argent_Aviis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Humor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:34:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argent_Aviis/pseuds/Argent_Aviis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Isn't it obvious? To be the Pirate King is to be..."</p>
<p>"The freest man alive!" cheered a boy from the East Blue, his straw hat sweeping over his eyes. "I'll find the treasure first!"</p>
<p>"The king of the world, duh!" shouted a girl on the other side of the sea, jabbing a cocky thumb at her chest. "And it's gonna be me!"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On The Rocks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Nothing but glowing reviews for On The Rocks!</p>
<p>"Tch! Everything in here's a fuckin' lie!" -Eustass Kidd, Supernova</p>
<p>"I'm being forced at gunpoint to say something nice about it." -Marine Petty Officer "Rockslide" Ride</p>
<p>"Oh, well, I think it's intereszzzz... (collapses)" -Portgas D. "Firefist" Ace</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Warnings: Swearing (clutches pearls), oc-centric (oh no), takes place about 4 years before canon</strong>
</p>
<hr/>

<p></p><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>Baterilla. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>A lovely vacation spot in the South Blue, known for hibiscus flowers and pristine white beaches and a long, proud history of colonialism. But lately, what the tourists were swarming to these days were the execution sites where hundreds of women were murdered in the hunt for Roger's son.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>They oohed and ahhed over the quaint little wooden guillotines and painted X's where the firing squads once stood. They posed cutely next to the blank graves that took up an entire field, before weeping in front of the elaborate tombstone of a marine killed in the crossfire that towered over them like a marble giant. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Poor young marine hero! With his name emblazoned in gold and everything! If only he had lived to commit more atrocities around the globe. There was nothing to be said about the women, though, not in this world where every mother and her mother was dead. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Then they moved on to the indigenous villages to see how they could disrespect their culture even more. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Obviously not all tourists are Like That, but the majority, unfortunately, are. Now, if you were an angry teenager who:</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>A) Lost your mom because the marines thought Roger was some sort of sex god</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>B) Is a native Baterillan and tired of bigoted old white men who keep infecting the land with their whiteness </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>C) Just want to fight a rude tourist</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>D) All of the above,</p>
    <p></p>
    <div class="">
      <p>Then you had quite a few options to choose from. You could go up to them and calmly explain, with illustrated step-by-step instructions, how to remove their heads from their asses. You could recount in gruesome detail how the poor women suffered much more than the marines who *killed* them. </p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Or there was always punching a bastard, but only in extreme cases of racism since Baterilla kinda sorta relied on the tourism industry like a fish relied on water. </p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Sadly, despite being a D), our hero wasn't doing any of those things. Instead she was trapped in a World Government-funded classroom, listening to what was basically "your mom would've sucked if she was alive and also the world government doesn't care about you peons." Laughable, if not tragic.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>The classroom was more like a metal box- actually, it <em>was</em> a metal box, one of many thrown in the forest to help raise the young population's literacy rate. The ceiling fan whirred bravely despite the air being hot enough to be liquid; a lizard, electric green, scuttled onto the windowsill before vanishing. Lucky bastard. </p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div><div class="pOoZl">
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>Anne tried to think about the waves she surfed on this morning, lovely, endless, lifting like a curtain with the promise of fish and coral reefs underneath. The sea cave that parents warned their children not to go to but had been her second home since second grade. How she came to school with sand on her bare toes, her short black hair crunched with salt-</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Miss Roxanne?" The ocean vanished. Ms. Ketch was looking at her with beady eyes and a shriveled mouth tight with disdain like a human desert.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Ah. Anne knew that particular tone of you-didn't-hear-my-question-again-you-stupid-child. She forced herself out of her stupor and tried to smile like a happy, colonized member of society. "Could you repeat that, please?" Please retire today, while you're at it. Go back to the North Blue and teach the pansy little freaks there. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"I said," she said slowly, sounding out each word, making the wrinkled pouch under her neck wobble, "what was the name," here she tapped her name tag, "of the marine officer," pointing a finger at the massive grave not far off, "who tried to stop the search for Roger's offspring?"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>And was the only good marine during that entire shitshow? She was asking this question specifically just to make her mad. Oh, she knew exactly who he was, he was mysteriously hit with several stray bullets for not being complicit in genocide. But the name! The name...! How could she just say his name?!</p>
    <p></p>
    <div class="">
      <p>"You just don't listen," the teacher snapped, rolling her eyes. "I don't have patience for people like you. Portgas, who was the marine off-"</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>"Lieutenant Sabre D. Tiger." Anne spit the name like bile. She passed it every morning on the way to school. </p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Ketch pursed her lips and her eyes, but she continued on with the lesson. </p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Anne tried to slip back into her daydream, but all she could see was the classroom; her mind refused to show her the ocean, and so she had nothing else to distract her from the worst yo mama joke to ever exist.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>She scratched an itch on her left arm and then her right one, leaving faint lines that were white against her tan skin. She looked at the clock, waited an hour, and when she looked at it again saw that only two minutes had passed. She went to a new page in her notebook and made a list of crimes that resulted in bounties. </p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Theft. Arson. Assault of a high-ranking enough marine. Murder, but she didn't really want to do THAT. Destroying a rival pirate captain with a bigger bounty than yours (if you weren't registered as a bounty hunter) could also make the government take notice, and it sounded a lot more fun. </p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>She'd made a promise not to try any of that until she was older, though, because her legal guardian was chill but not “letting a high schooler sail into the grand line alone on a raft” chill, and-</p>
      <p></p>
      <div class="">
        <p>Wait. </p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>She went over yesterday's events in her head. Cake? Check. Candles? Check. Singing? Check. That all had definitely happened the day before and not last year.</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>...Oh, that's right! She was sixteen now! She'd promised not to leave until sixteen, didn't she (Salt had insisted pirates needed at least a tenth grade level education). But<em> she was sixteen now.</em> It was all she could do not to cackle madly in triumph.</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>All these years, she had to endure classes that painted the World Government as heroes sent to liberate Baterilla. The recruitment videos every few months to send boys to the Marine bases scattered throughout the South Blue. The weekly visits to a church whose god was merciful but not to her. Never again!</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>She held her breath, feeling excitement bubble in her chest. The classmates to the left and right of her were probably disturbed by the weird expressions her face was now contorting into, but she didn't care. She didn't. Now that she was of acceptable pirating age, she had to act like one. </p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>It was easier said than done. She'd trained herself for so long to shove all her anger and unpleasantness away until she promptly forgot about it, and it made her boring and awkward and cowardly and the exact opposite of what a captain should be. </p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>So it was hard to say anything, especially because Ms. Ketch never gave Anne the chance to speak. The woman was so lost in the sauce that was WG propaganda that every time she ended a sentence she immediately jumped into the next one. There was not an opening to be found except in the gaps in her teeth.</p>
        <p></p>
        <div class="">
          <p>"The marines fought bravely during the search." Against who?! Defenseless women, some not much older than she was? Roger Jr.’s testosterone-pumped embryo?</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>"The savage Baterillans rushed to her defense, making it difficult for the soldiers." The savage Baterillans in the classroom shifted uncomfortably. </p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>"Roger’s wife was utterly deranged when they found her, as though the devil itself was in her womb." Well, then, it seemed like the mystery of the teacher’s birth was solved.</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Everything she'd wanted to say never made it out of her mouth, until. Until. UNTIL.</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>"Now, as you already know," no, we did not already know, please, enlighten us and tell us more, "The marines successfully found and killed the guilty women pregnant with Roger's child with no other casualties, save for Lieutenant-"</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>"Bullshit."</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>The word hung in the air quietly, menacingly. Twenty heads covered in pimples and judgement turned to stare at her. "Pardon me?" the teacher asked, which sounded very much more like "Why aren't you licking my boots, young lady?"</p>
          <p></p>
          <div class="">
            <p>Anne audibly inhaled- one, two, three seconds- and then exploded. </p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>"Gold Roger was king of the pirates, not king of the fucking pimps!" Holy Gorosei's dick on a stick, the other students were actually paying attention to her for the first time. It was the attention you give a train that's flipped over and on fire, but still. "Did the Marines think every woman on Batterila was carrying his child? Not even I have that much game! You honestly think he...?"</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>"Roxanne." A silent warning to start bootlicking, or else. </p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>She pretended to be struck by sudden deafness, standing up to hear herself better. "Maybe you didn't know this, but it was less about killing Roger's baby and more about giving the marines an excuse to raze the native reservations to the ground. Just because those racist swine! Felt! Like! It!"</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>The sound Ms. Ketch made was not human. That was encouraging, since Anne was speeding down a cliff at top speed at this point and she couldn't stop if she tried. "I'm tired of hearing you spew trash," she ranted. "My father ate lead fifty times trying to protect my mom before they kicked the corpse into the sea, was he, too, pregnant with Roger's-" </p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>"Roxanne!" Ms. Ketch screamed, her hands coming down on the table. Anne nearly jolted back at the nerve-popping rage on her teacher's face. </p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>The wisecracking revolutionary/shounen protagonist that had taken over her body faded away, leaving a scared high schooler behind. She was suddenly aware of blank stares and slowly-shaking heads and the governor's stupid son parroting her speech in a mocking voice while his friends cackled. </p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Shame settled on her skin like lead. </p>
            <p></p>
            <div class="">
              <p>"Stay behind after class," the teacher managed, after taking a rattling breath that shook all the bones in her neck. </p>
            </div>
            <div class="">
              <p>Now is your chance, Anne's last braincell whispered seductively. You can apologize. You can take this humiliating defeat and come back tomorrow like nothing ever happened. Come on. </p>
            </div>
            <div class="">
              <p>"I think not," Anne's mouth said. Before she knew what was happening, her legs lifted her up and carried her out the classroom, and after a brief moment's hesitation where the teacher's cold fury hit her like a shockwave, she shut the door behind her with a hard slam. </p>
            </div>
            <div class="">
              <p>“B-bullshit,” someone whimpered in a high, girly voice.</p>
            </div>
            <div class="">
              <p>She heard raucous laughter in the room and her face burned. It was fine. After today, she'd never see these people again. By tomorrow she'd be out at sea, her Jolly Roger flying high, with no less than a billion beli bounty before she even got into the Grand Line. That was a totally realistic goal, yes.</p>
            </div>
            <div class="">
              <p>But first- but first! She had to run to her favorite stall in the girl's bathroom and disassociate for the next three hours. </p>
              <hr/>
              <p></p>
              <div class="">
                <p>Her home ate the bloated eyesores the rich built on the coast and called "houses" for breakfast.</p>
              </div>
              <div class="">
                <p>She always felt better there. </p>
              </div>
              <div class="">
                <p>It sat on the repair shop she and her uncle worked at, at the far end of the far end of the neighborhood, next to a palm tree that had keeled over and died. Behind it was a sliver of beach too covered in rocks to be snatched away by a resort. Swim trunks hung over the balcony, still dripping seawater that she skillfully avoided.</p>
              </div>
              <div class="">
                <p>A lopsided sign hung over the store, with RO KS  TAR written on it in peeling paint. Inside were things the townsfolk needed fixed. Deeper inside were Salt's abandoned private projects that would never see the light of day.</p>
              </div>
              <div class="">
                <p>Normal people used the door. Scaling the wall and dropping in through the window was much more fun, though. Her uncle had nearly fainted the first time she did it, but over the years he just became completely desensitized to his favorite niece dropping in from the ceiling whenever.</p>
              </div>
              <div class="">
                <p>Anne balanced her foot on the railing and turned her body sideways to fit through the narrow opening, tumbling headfirst onto the sofa with a thump. From her upside-down view, she saw the elephant-shaped lamp from Lotos Island and shirts casually tossed around on the carpeted floor and the wicker chair her brother was sitting in. </p>
                <p></p>
                <div class="">
                  <p>Although his focus was currently on Electric Blue's raid suit that had just been ripped to shreds, revealing chiseled abs shamelessly on display for both the female readers and Ride alike. "Hey, ugly ass," he greeted, not looking up from his copy of <em>Warrior of the Sea: Sora, Volume 28.</em></p>
                </div>
                <div class="">
                  <p>"Hey, ass kisser."</p>
                </div>
                <div class="">
                  <p>"That's ass kicker to you!"</p>
                </div>
                <div class="">
                  <p>Girls and boys swooned over her older brother, and she often heard hilarious shit like "sinful brown orbs" and "silky ink-black hair" to describe the dork that once wanted to become a bird when he grew up (whenever she heard someone call him "oriental" or "exotic," though, it was all she could do to suppress her revulsion. What the fuck).</p>
                </div>
                <div class="">
                  <p>He was as respectable as a sibling could get until he turned fifteen and inexplicably joined the Marines. She'd rather have him magically transform into a bird. "Angry that they called you Roxanne again, aren'tcha," he said sagely, his gaze now captivated by Poison Pink as she slaughtered a man in cold blood. </p>
                  <p></p>
                  <div class="">
                    <p>"I was scared of Ms. Ketch," she wailed, burying her face in her hands. "How am I supposed to stare down a Yonkou when I can't- I can't-" </p>
                  </div>
                  <div class="">
                    <p>"-Can't even stare down the she-boomer who files for divorce each month and saw you throw up on your crush in 3rd grade?" Ride asked, turning the page. "I think Big Mom has, like, two out of three of those things in common. You're getting there!" He pumped his fist. "<strong>ファイト オン</strong> (Fight On)!"</p>
                  </div>
                  <div class="">
                    <p>Anne's only response was to slide further down the sofa and onto the floor, hoping she'd melt into a gelatinous liquid. "An emperor of the sea saw the cringiest moment of my life," she intoned. "She'll be sooo insufferable when she becomes my underling."</p>
                  </div>
                  <div class="">
                    <p>He was about to say something equally dry in response until the door opened and the switch in his brain flipped from sarcastic lazy teenager to happy puppy. "Uncle Salt," he shouted, and the idiot yeeted himself downstairs. She scrambled after him just as she heard an "oof!" and what sounded like concrete hitting a sandbag. </p>
                  </div>
                  <div class="">
                    <p>Their uncle's namesake mineral was white, but he was proudly anything but. Years of working under the sun gave him freckles and a permanent tan, along with thin pink scars and callused hands that slapped your back in encouragement. There were also silver streaks starting to show up in his black hair, much to his anguish.</p>
                  </div>
                  <div class="">
                    <p>These were all things Anne saw before she launched herself after Ride, latching her arms around her uncle and squeezing him as hard as she could. </p>
                    <p></p>
                    <div class="">
                      <p>The hug was short-lived, unfortunately, because then he flipped her onto the floor. Anne kept her head from hitting the ground like they'd practiced and then shot upward to tackle him again. Her rock-hard skull rammed into his equally hard stomach like a cannon. As she fell away, Ride rose up behind him, eyes glinting menacingly. </p>
                    </div>
                    <div class="">
                      <p>It was a 2v1 against an aging man in his midlife crisis. They never stood a chance. Salt swept their legs underneath them with his foot and caught them before they fell, only to sling Anne over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Her fallen comrade jumped up into a flying kick with a howl of "Gimme back my sisterrrr," only to get grabbed by the leg and swung downwards again. </p>
                    </div>
                    <div class="">
                      <p>She kicked and punched viciously, flailing her limbs, but it was like beating a brick wall. He started throwing her into the air and then catching her like a softball while shaking off his nephew from his leg. Anne was spun around in the air just as Ride was catapulted backwards.</p>
                    </div>
                    <div class="">
                      <p>“Had enough yet?” called Salt, and all he heard was their angry yelling in response. "You lost again, you little brats," he crowed, helping Ride to his feet and letting Anne climb down. "Which means it's time to help me with work!" </p>
                    </div>
                    <div class="">
                      <p>Groans followed his declaration. They walked into the shop, where dust swirled around in the sunlight coming in through the windows. Salt crawled underneath the red automobile and started working on the parts underneath. Ride stood by the den den mushi to take calls (“Rocks Star Repairs; We Fix Everything”).</p>
                      <p></p>
                      <div class="">
                        <p>Meanwhile, Anne was glaring down at the fishing boat that one Mr. Chekhov had ordered fixed by sunrise tomorrow, even though no one in the family knew shit about boats. </p>
                      </div>
                      <div class="">
                        <p> Ubazame-san lived closer and knew shit about boats, but the fact remained that poor Baterillans were still tolerated more than fishmen, and Chekhov Juusei's son knew better than to be open-minded around worms. That hadn't stopped her family from letting the old basking shark repair it himself, giving him all the money paid for the job. </p>
                      </div>
                      <div class="">
                        <p>It was mostly finished, and now she set to work painting over what little damage there was left. She’d have to look for a shipwright first for her crew- after all, you couldn’t go out to sea without a decent ship- and she had asked Ubazame if he’d like to set sail again. </p>
                      </div>
                      <div class="">
                        <p>“You could visit Fishman Island,” she’d suggested, only for him to<em> sha-sha-sha</em> with laughter and ruffle her hair and tell her he was too old for adventures and the ahi poke was too good to leave behind.</p>
                        <p></p>
                        <div class="">
                          <p>Anne helped with other repairs and biked around Baterilla delivering things that were fixed (stopping to secretly throw stones at the nobles’ children) until the sun went down and they all trudged back upstairs, exhausted. She dove into the shower first, laughing before she slammed the door in their faces.</p>
                        </div>
                        <div class="">
                          <p>Dinner was sticky rice and lemon chicken on flower-patterned paper plates, washed down with several glasses of mango juice. Anne ate until her stomach hurt. She had no idea when she was going to recruit a cook better than her uncle, so she enjoyed it while it lasted. </p>
                        </div>
                        <div class="">
                          <p>Then she burped to a smattering of applause.</p>
                        </div>
                        <div class="">
                          <p>Outside, the sunset bled orange onto the sea. The palm trees were black against the sky, waving gently in the breeze, and island smells were drifting in through the window: coconut, ocean air, plumeria. Someone had lit a bonfire farther down the coast, and they heard faint laughter- good laughter- somewhere from that direction. </p>
                        </div>
                        <div class="">
                          <p>Everyone had eaten, and now it was time for the daily interrogation about what each of them did today. </p>
                          <p></p>
                          <div class="">
                            <p>"I went fishing with my boyfriend," Uncle Salt reported, giving the children a Look before they could ask him if the boyfriend's name was Pepper. That joke was getting old (and he called him Sugar). </p>
                          </div>
                          <div class="">
                            <p>"I'm getting promoted in a few weeks," Ride announced, and faltered when he saw two identically raised eyebrows. "No, I really am this time." (Behind him, Anne quietly added another tally mark to the board titled <em>Ride Thinks He's Getting Promoted Again).</em></p>
                          </div>
                          <div class="">
                            <p>Now it was Anne's turn. She puffed her chest out and declared, "I'm gonna be king of the pirates."</p>
                          </div>
                          <div class="">
                            <p>Silence followed, instead of the grandiose, overwhelming support she was expecting. </p>
                          </div>
                          <div class="">
                            <p>"Ha ha," Salt said. "It's a welcome change from 'nothing,' I suppose." He took a good look at her expression and then it dawned on him that- "Oh. You're... actually serious about this." Was that really disappointment in his voice, or was that just her raging anxiety talking?</p>
                          </div>
                          <div class="">
                            <p>"Yes. <em>Ore wa kaizokuo ni naru hito da</em> and all that. Didn't you say 'no acts of piracy or general lawlessness until you're sixteen, young lady'?" They were more enthusiastic about her burp than her lifelong dream, wow.</p>
                            <p></p>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>"It seemed so far away when I said it," he protested, hands clasped with a faraway look in his eyes. Then he looked back at her sternly. "That was ten years ago and you never brought it up again. Is this why that harpy called in and said you ‘disrupted her class’? You, the model student of our family?”</p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>"I keep my promises," Anne replied airily, inhaling another piece of chicken. She wouldn't have had the balls to say this yesterday. "Like you should." The air felt dangerous now, like there was a mini-storm brewing in this house specifically. </p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>If Ride had popcorn, he would've eagerly munched on it as he watched his family mentally circle each other like wolves. </p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>Uncle Salt drew first blood. "The last time we had a king of the pirates, his head swung on live television and so did everyone with an uterus in Baterilla." Including his little sister, Star, but apparently he was willing to forget his trauma to Prove a Point. </p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>"I'm not having kids," she pointed out. "What I'm gonna do is kick marine ass, kick pirate ass, and find the One Piece that the World Government explicitly told us not to find. I'll come back rich and famous, and Gold Roger will forever be known in history as the random dude whose treasure I found."</p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>Salt was normally a level-headed, reasonable man, so she was surprised by his sudden hostility when he stood up and towered over her and said, "every other pirate with scurvy and bad teeth says this shit-" </p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>"Are you saying I have scurvy and bad teeth-" </p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>"-and every single one of them are adult men who burn villages to the ground and kidnap children to sell into... into slavery, and you know exactly what they'll do when they see a little kid like you, sailing alone on open waters! Sabaody will be as far as you get and it’ll be in chains! Stay here in Baterilla!”</p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>“I won’t let that happen to me,” she protested. “I can fight-”</p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>“Oh, you can fight,” he parroted. “You can’t even fight <em>me!</em> You think you have what it takes to be a captain? Maybe if you went to the fucking East Blue, and spent your days murdering those poor little country hicks and terrorizing the local farms-”</p>
                            </div>
                            <div class="">
                              <p>"I’m going to the New World! And that's not the kind of pirate I'm gonna be!" </p>
                              <p></p>
                              <div class="">
                                <p>“AND WHAT, PRAY TELL, OTHER PIRATES ARE THERE?!” Holy shit, holy shit, holy <em>fucking</em> shit. He hadn’t raised his voice like that in years. Anne debated whether or not she should say the Thing that would win the argument and destroy him, and her mouth decided for her.</p>
                              </div>
                              <div class="">
                                <p>“My mother.” There was a tremendous silence. It was like she’d beaten her uncle in the face with a sledgehammer. His face crumpled and then forced itself smooth like a mask. </p>
                              </div>
                              <div class="">
                                <p>Anne’s eyes felt like dry wind was blowing right into them.</p>
                              </div>
                              <div class="">
                                <p>"No way in hell you'll make it as a pirate," Salt shouted. "You cry whenever I so much as raise my voice at you- see!" He jabbed a finger at her. "See, you're doing it right now! What if I was an enemy pirate who was talking trash before a fight, huh, and you start bawling? You're gonna cry when they throw you in Impel Down?!"</p>
                              </div>
                              <div class="">
                                <p>"I'b not," Anne protested, just before her uncle was blurred away in a sea of tears. Fuck, no, there was already a lump in her throat! She was a Strong Inspiring Female Character, she couldn't, she couldn't- she ripped off a square of paper towel and blew her nose so loud the house shook- she couldn't cry!</p>
                              </div>
                              <div class="">
                                <p>"Holy shit," her dumb brother gasped. "Just when I got my hearing back."</p>
                                <p></p>
                                <div class="">
                                  <p>They ignored him. Her life was easier without his comments. "You said- you told me that everything the Marines do is for a reason," she managed, although every other word was punctuated by a sniff or a shuddering breath. "So why's my mom dead, then? I'll- I'll give them a reason! I'll make those fucking marines regret it all!"</p>
                                </div>
                                <div class="">
                                  <p>The room was quiet, especially the fucking marine. She took this opportunity to honk her nose again like the clown she was. </p>
                                </div>
                                <div class="">
                                  <p>Her speech had a lot less blubbering when she imagined it in her head. He was right, every time he yelled it magically turned on the faucet in her eye sockets. But he was way different from an enemy pirate she was going to break in half! She looked into his warm brown eyes and was met with frightening impassiveness.</p>
                                </div>
                                <div class="">
                                  <p>"What you're planning is immature." Anne felt a stabbing sensation in her chest. "Ninety percent of the pirates who cross Reverse Mountain die before they come down. The Grand Line kills the ones who don't. And if by some miracle they're still standing after that, the Yonkou will eat them alive for their troubles. Is this the revenge you want?"</p>
                                </div>
                                <div class="">
                                  <p>No. "YES!" </p>
                                </div>
                                <div class="">
                                  <p>Her uncle's eyebrow raised (God, it was much less satisfying when it was aimed at her). She wanted to explain, in a normal, not-crying voice, that she was going to keep herself alive. She'd get stronger. Her nakama would have her back and she'd protect them all with the strength to make an Emperor kneel.</p>
                                </div>
                                <div class="">
                                  <p>What she actually did was take off running. The hallway zoomed past her and she dove out the window, pulling herself up onto grainy brownish red tiles. Her leg vanished from sight just before Salt came running by. Ow, fuck, she banged it on the railing in her hurry!</p>
                                </div>
                                <div class="">
                                  <p>"Anne? Anne! Where did you go?!"</p>
                                  <p></p>
                                  <div class="">
                                    <p>"She's up on the roof," came Ride's traitorous voice. Anne clambered up higher and out of sight, still sniffling. Her uncle didn't just piss on her dream, he squatted down and braced himself. At least now he couldn't climb up after her and yell more. </p>
                                  </div>
                                  <div class="">
                                    <p>He'd grieved so much when Star had died. The villagers said so. Ride said so. When Baterilla swept its bloody ground clean, he was an empty shell and would've stayed that way if he didn't have two orphaned kids to take care of. Every day he brought flowers to her unmarked grave, lying in the enormous shadow of her husband's empty one. </p>
                                  </div>
                                  <div class="">
                                    <p>And yet there were photos on the fridge of Ride saluting in his marine uniform and off to war on a fancy marine ship and singing marine shanties with his marine friends. He used to punch marine apprentices out cold right in front of the house, and good old Uncle would always insist he didn't see a thing.</p>
                                  </div>
                                  <div class="">
                                    <p>Where was his chill when Anne said she was going to <em>keep</em> punching the shit out of marines?</p>
                                  </div>
                                  <div class="">
                                    <p>She lay down, watching the sun sink into the ocean, letting night creep in with all its shades of dark blue and purple, and she imagined an enormous ship passing over her, creaking and swaying in the depths of the sky. It sailed on towards the sun, over and over, chasing a dream that would never end. She belonged there, not on Baterilla with her mother's ghost.</p>
                                  </div>
                                  <div class="">
                                    <p>Underneath her, she heard footsteps pacing around, and then a familiar tired, exasperated voice saying, "I hoped she'd given up on that." </p>
                                    <p></p>
                                    <div class="">
                                      <p>Ride, to his credit, said nothing. Uncle Salt gave a heavy sigh and switched off the lights. </p>
                                    </div>
                                    <div class="">
                                      <p>She heard the creaking as Salt got into bed, and then faint snickering and feet going up a ladder and a smaller creaking which meant Ride had stolen the top bunk of the bed again, the fucking bastard. </p>
                                    </div>
                                    <div class="">
                                      <p>She thought throwing away her school and home life would be easy. All she had to do was announce she was leaving, tearfully flip Ride off, and sail away into the distance to go on adventures and recruit crewmates.</p>
                                    </div>
                                    <div class="">
                                      <p>The wind beat through the trees as the world started getting darker and darker. Night settled and all the lights in the house were turned off one by one (one window was left open to let her back in). Soon she was the only one still awake. This was the last time she’d stay at this house, the last time she’d live on land.</p>
                                    </div>
                                    <div class="">
                                      <p>Anne sat up, taking a deep breath.</p>
                                    </div>
                                    <div class="">
                                      <p>"I AM THE ONE WHO WILL BECOME PIRATE KING," she roared into the night. </p>
                                    </div>
                                    <div class="">
                                      <p>The only answer she got were the crashing waves, breaking on the shore, ebbing and flowing in the darkness. The only answer she needed, honestly. </p>
                                      <hr/>
                                      <p></p>
                                      <div class="">
                                        <p>The next morning, Anne moved Chekhov's <em>Gun </em>out to the water. She said it would be fixed, not that she'd give it back. It was a nice, clear day, with the palm trees swaying and warm air draping over her like a shawl. Salt and Ride wouldn’t wake up till much later, even if a hurricane barreled clean through the house-</p>
                                      </div>
                                      <div class="">
                                        <p>"You’re really leaving.”</p>
                                      </div>
                                      <div class="">
                                        <p>Well. Apparently today was an exception. “You have to go to the marine base in three hours,” she reminded her brother, looking over her shoulder to see him with a first aid kit and wrapped sandwiches. The character development was staggering. What next, would he actually get promoted past apprentice?</p>
                                      </div>
                                      <div class="">
                                        <p>“I can get there in three hours,” he assured her, putting the supplies in the boat, “so I can be at the watchtower when you come crawling back to us in shame. That’s one less sandwich for you, by the way,” he added, as the offending package hit him in the face.</p>
                                      </div>
                                      <div class="">
                                        <p>“Oh, you’ll never see me again.” Unless his superiors sent him to Laugh Tale as a joke, so now was her last chance to ask him a question. “I’m still surprised you joined those dickheads after everything that happened. I know dad was a marine, but still... wouldn’t you rather be cabin boy for the future Pirate King?”</p>
                                      </div>
                                      <div class="">
                                        <p>He was quiet, and for a moment she thought he was going to launch into a passionate lecture about Pirates Bad and Marines Good, hurr durr, which she would take as her cue to get out of dodge. Exit stage left. Hit the road for good, never to come back. Instead-</p>
                                      </div>
                                      <div class="">
                                        <p>"For the record, I think... if I keep climbing the ranks, if I become Fleet Admiral, I could stop it. I'd have the power to make sure something like Baterilla would never happen again. I want to- no, <em>I</em> <em>will</em> bring the marines to justice!"</p>
                                      </div>
                                      <div class="">
                                        <p>Wow. He... actually said something intelligent for once. He had fierce determination in his eyes, and his hands were clenched into fists as he looked out into the horizon and everything.</p>
                                        <p></p>
                                        <div class="">
                                          <p>Then he went and ruined it, because his duty as a big brother wouldn't allow for anything else. "And I'm gonna wipe the ocean floor with you when we meet on the Grand Line, got that, future Pirate King?" He gave her a friendly punch to the shoulder and she cackled, swatting him back. </p>
                                        </div>
                                        <div class="">
                                          <p>"Just don't hurt yourself, future Fleet Admiral!" Then they went back to insults, because honestly, that was starting to get too sentimental and gooey. “You’re like Emily Elizabeth, you know,” she said suddenly.</p>
                                        </div>
                                        <div class="">
                                          <p>“What.” “Technically you work under Sakazuki the Big Red Dog,” Anne explained, earning herself a less-than-friendly punch to the face that she narrowly avoided. She climbed inside, starting up the boat and letting it sputter to life. She was really going to be free! The motor hummed, and she guided it towards the open ocean.</p>
                                        </div>
                                        <div class="">
                                          <p>It was only as the craft began leaving the dock that a cold chill of suspicion crept over her. Her brother had been oddly... tolerable for far too long, even agreeable when he would normally tell her it was none of her fucking business. And there was the fact he <em>willingly gave her food</em>. She turned around slowly, feeling the sudden dangerous aura coming off him in waves.</p>
                                        </div>
                                        <div class="">
                                          <p>"As a marine, I'm literally paid to get your ass," Ride said, pushing the boat further out to sea. His smile chilled her to the bone. Fuck, <em>that </em>was why! "So I'll give you a day's head start, yeah?"</p>
                                          <p></p>
                                          <div class="">
                                            <p>Anne revved the engine and sped off without hesitation, leaving her brother in the dust. Waves. Bubbles. Whatever. Her pirate career was not ending in twenty-four hours because he threw her ass in jail, how cringeworthy would that be? The boat bounced on the waves, not going at the proper speed of light she wanted.</p>
                                          </div>
                                          <div class="">
                                            <p>She didn't relax until his roaring laughter faded out of earshot and the island faded even further away. Soon it was just her, the sea, the sky, and the boat she'd stolen and still had its owner's name on the back. She'd scratch it out later, who was going to catch her now? The fucking... water police? </p>
                                          </div>
                                          <div class="">
                                            <p>...oh, right. Marines.</p>
                                          </div>
                                          <div class="">
                                            <p>But that was only one marine and he couldn't do jack until she got a bounty. <em>No less than a billion before I get into the Grand Line,</em> right? Behahaha! She'd get there, no rush. </p>
                                          </div>
                                          <div class="">
                                            <p>Now that there was no threat of imminent death, she could finally appreciate the vast expanse of deep blue waves, curling over and under themselves as far as the eye could see. Cold winds wove through her hair and left kisses all over her face. It felt wild and lonely and happy and holy ballsacks, she was finally free at last! </p>
                                          </div>
                                          <div class="">
                                            <p>Gold Roger's era was over. Even now, there were pirate ships racing to the end of the Grand Line, and hundreds more still were crossing Reverse Mountain. But it was her who was going to find One Piece! Roger's kid would be small fry in comparison!</p>
                                          </div>
                                          <div class="">
                                            <p>The world would remember Rocks D. Anne!</p>
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